


a little quip

by swaybackgriefer



Series: A Corruptible Soul [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Angel Wings, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand & Finger Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sorry Not Sorry, Wings, literally just two angels fucking, one is a fallen angel, orange boy is just desperate to be with grey girl forever, the other probably will be soon, they're very much in love, yeah so that's a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23746891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swaybackgriefer/pseuds/swaybackgriefer
Summary: This is a drabble I wrote ages and ages ago as an exercise- write a sex scene without using obviously sexual terms like "cock" or "pussy". It turned out *really* good in my opinion, so I figured I'd post it here!
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: A Corruptible Soul [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1710631
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	a little quip

Burnt orange wings, held high and spread wide over a pair of bodies.   
Magnificent feathers, cast in varying shades of greyscale, fluffed up. Wings spread flat, contracting and bunching up by her shoulders as she moans in pleasure, hand fisting the sheets beneath her.   
One thin-fingered hand finds its home between grey wings, palm covering the raven-and-triskelion tattoo that lies there as he leans more of his weight into it, pressing his lover’s upper body further into the mattress as she tries to arch back into his chest.  
He groans, dropping his head and squeezing his eyes shut, harsh breaths heating the back of her neck as he pulls himself back from the edge, rust-tipped wings drawing themselves over their heads and cocooning them in orange light, the fading sun shining through his feathers.   
She whines, a long, drawn-out noise from high in her throat, wings folding and pushing up into his face as he tries to regain control, and he hisses through his teeth something that makes her keen, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust of his hips.   
Grey wings, drawn up tight to her back, the muscles there rippling as they tense, and he growls his permission; the tension in her posture snaps like a rubber band, and she’s shaking, a monochromatic tremoring of fault lines, a drawn-out cry of his name caught on her lips, and he’s there too, pressing deeper, deeper, trying to get closer, closer, hips snapping and jumping like a lightning bolt has struck the base of his spine, and the great, wide, burnt-orange wings are trembling, shaking, overwhelmed by the sensations, and he’s grabbing, reaching, ensnaring one hand in soft grey feathers and the other in a calloused grip, fingers laced like sneaker crosses, and they’re falling, trembling, stumbling over the edge together, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades and her expression drawn tight from the pleasure he’s wrung from her very bones, and the tug in her feathers is so good, too good, and the snap of hips against hers abruptly stops, and he pants against the back of her neck, holding as still as possible as the last jolts of lightning peter out.   
After a few moments of stillness, he is the first to move, opening his eyes and withdrawing himself with a hiss before moving to lay next to her, limbs and wings jelly-like alike.


End file.
